Closed Theaters, Empty Beaches, Congested Traffic, And Sedentary Kids by Doug Wrenn

Closed Theaters, Empty Beaches, Congested Traffic, And Sedentary Kids:

Signs Of Our New, Obnoxious, And Isolated Era

By Doug Wrenn

March 05, 2008

As recently announced by their Massachusetts-based parent company, National Amusements, Showcase Cinemas in East Windsor and Orange, in the Hartford and New burbs respectively, both closed March 2nd.

My shock was short-lived.

I can speak more intelligently of the latter than the former, which has been around longer (Since its opening in 1969, which I remember, as opposed to the other opening in 1994) and from what I observed, the move and expansion across the street on Marsh Hill Road, but still abutting Interstate 95 was possibly more of a hindrance than a help. Either there were fewer crowds or they simply created the mirage of evaporating into this vast and grandiose mausoleum that should have offered shuttle service, both inside as well as outside. But I don't think that was the final nail in the coffin.

These "Cine, 1, 2-Many's," as a friend of mine refers to them, have probably lived out their time and attraction due to technology, in much the same way that they drove out most of the cozy, single-screen, Mom & Pop neighborhood venues and outdoor drive-ins, now lost to romantic memories of all but bygone Americana.

Inevitably, of the 23 or whatever internal theaters patrons had to choose from, the same movies were playing in at least five of them, kind of like the same gimmick used by cable TV companies who sucker you in to subscribing to their super-duper packages, inclusive of all of their so-called premium movie channels with redundantly played movies on at least two of them at almost any given time.

Then there is the ever-shrinking dollar in the American family's budget. Entertainment is always the first to go on the food chain of primal needs and priorities. Minor league baseball franchises capitalized on that notion, making their admission and concession prices much easier on the wallet and family friendly, as opposed to the big boys in the majors, who have all those corporate boxes and steroids to pay for. The same analogy can also be drawn to the few, dying-on-the-vine Mom & Pop theatres and drive-ins vs. the behemoth Cine 1, 2-Many's. At least the Cine 1, 2-Many's responded in kind with low interest, fixed rate loans with no money down and no payment due for 30 days for hungry patrons to fiscally procure the desired astronomically and ridiculously priced wares at the snack counter. Still, even that wasn't enough.

In his book, "Disabling America," author Greg Perry, a disabled man and movie buff himself, describes in one chapter how radical fringes of advocates for the Americans With Disabilities Act (ADA) and their carnivorous and predatory trial lawyer cronies continued to chip away at what they deemed to be inaccessible seating in many such theatres, and yet never satisfied with the accommodations made, continued to hammer away at such establishments, and as a result, decimating entire swaths of such seating, for the benefit of the single or couple occasional disabled patron(s), which of course, then translates into the additional cost being passed onto all patrons, disabled and otherwise. A movie buff myself, on one recent excursion to a local Cine 1,2-Many, I saw exactly what Perry described. After a recent renovation, I was astounded at literally how conspicuously few rows and seats now remained in the sub-theatre I was in. The stark and very unsymmetrical sight of open, unused flooring and drastically decreased rows of seats seemed as oddly akin to storing a couple dozen cookies in a garage instead of a cookie jar.

Then of course, we have the increasingly emerging trend of coveted home entertainment. Not only can you now rent DVD's and VHS tapes (Kids, ask your parents about that second one, right after you ask them what "Beta" means.), but now movies can even be mailed to residences. In addition to that, some cable and satellite companies also offer "movies on demand," from the comfort of your living room couch or recliner. How sweet is that? Throw in a bartender, a short order cook and a waiter, and I'm all set!

And as the late night TV commercials are known to say, "But wait…there's

more!" Enter the advent and growing popularity of home movie theatres. I wonder at what point would a cost analysis show that a family has paid off their home theater with the wide screen, stadium seating, and perhaps even a real popcorn machine (other than the microwave in the kitchen) by the absence of trips to the various local Cine 1,2-Many's.

OK, depending upon how zealous a family or person may be in terms of movie watching, I suppose in the long term, such an investment could be worth it. But I don't think money, or lack thereof, is the only reason for the apparently beginning demise of the modern movie theatre either, even despite the fact that much of the garbage Hollywood produces today is generally brainless, shallow, grotesque and often copied (but still ruined) from older, more original and classic film works. In case you haven't noticed yet, Hollywood writers striking is the equivalent to the government shutting down in Washington, like it did during the 90's. Few people would even notice if it weren't constantly mentioned on the news.

Besides all of that, there is a growing and rather dark perception that society is predominantly made up of rude, ignorant, obnoxious, self-absorbed chowderheads, who seem to be in close proximity to wherever we go in public, and the rest of us, who are tired of dealing with them and are quite willingly and increasingly living like hermits. Where have you people been? All this time, I thought I was the only one!

I work long hours on the road. Often, I may be contently sitting idle in a parking lot somewhere, sipping a coffee and catching up on some paperwork, when some bozo, with no real ability to park his car, decides against the numerous swaths of open spaces to park in, and instead, has to come park right next to me so that he has something to guide him into the lines by. Inevitably, this joker will then stare at me, crank up his radio, and leave his car running, and along with it, his defective exhaust system, with the onerous fumes suffocating me. I think there are several clones of this guy out there. One such clone is the guy who is 6 feet 8 inches tall, comes into the movie theatre five minutes after you sit down, and decides that the various and multiple empty rows are far too remote for him. No, he wants to sit directly in front of you. Bye-bye, ten-dollar movie view. Next comes his companion, who then plunks down in the adjacent seat to the potential NBA star that got away and the two of them don't shut up for the next two hours. (Two and half hours if you count the stupid movie trivia questions, soft drink commercials, endless trailers of coming attractions and celebrities preaching and pitching to us about their favorite charities, soon to be thrust upon us by the soon-arriving, obedient ushers with collection jars in hand for us, the captive audience who have already paid our admission and are now reaching into our pockets yet again. OK, fine. Here you go. Anything, whatever. Now please… just start the movie already, before I qualify for Social Security, while that still even exists!)

It doesn't end there. One time in a movie theatre on a winter evening, a group of hatless people came in five minutes late, oddly sat down right next to us, adjacent to the seats immediately closest to my wife, and left five minutes early. When the lights came on, my wife noticed that her ski cap, worth all of a whopping two bucks in value, was suddenly gone. Another time, some guy plopped down in right front of us and cracked open a soda, but I think, probably a beer. Then he snorted something. Then he lit up a cigarette, and then a marijuana joint next. That's when I had enough. I didn't have to smoke pot when I was younger. I involuntarily had my fill of it, simply from working security at rock concerts. I leaned over, tapped this guy on the shoulder and strongly suggested that he move. He wisely, quietly and expeditiously chose the least path of resistance. More recently, my wife and I saw blue-collar comedian Ron White when he came into town. Bad enough the weather was lousy that night, and I was becoming sick with a developing fever, but seated in front of us, (as we sat in our $50.00 seats) were four 20-something's, one of whom was drunk as a skunk and would not shut up. I warned him and his obnoxious friends twice already, nicely the first time, and not so nicely the second time. My third and final warning now included the hinted mention of their eviction, unaided or otherwise. Some brief back and forth banter ensued. As I began to rise out of my seat, so did they. Fortunately, they then voluntarily left, all of about 15 or 20 minutes before the show ended, and not before Bozo vomited the remaining cause of his self-imposed malady on the floor for his grand finale. As if that wasn't enough, when the lights came up, I was approached by an usher, asking me to check the seat in front of me. (Where was this guy with his little vest, bowtie and flashlight when I needed him?) Bozo, in his drunken delirium, apparently forgot his jacket and was apparently too sick, lazy, embarrassed, afraid, or maybe, unconscious to go back and retrieve it himself. I was then approached and actually thanked by a grateful couple seated in the vicinity who were as equally disturbed by these jerks as I was.

On one occasion at the beach, my wife and I planted ourselves onto a small plot of claimed beach sand and we were soon joined by four bikini-clad neighbors in their late teens to early 20's, with no objection whatsoever by me, well, not initially anyway. One of the girls blew her nose, crumpled up the used tissue and threw it onto the sand on this gorgeously warm day with a slight, but pleasant breeze. The breeze soon lost its appeal with me, however, when it pushed the crude little debutante's discarded and now rolling nasal contents onto our blanket. Being a firm believer in the 4th Amendment and property rights, I did what any other civic-minded citizen would do. I picked up the tissue, walked a couple steps onto Gidget's blanket, and dropped the soiled tissue onto her pretty little, firm, tanned sunblock-lathered stomach, as she laid on her back and stared at me in wide-eyed shock, sheer disbelief, and utter amazement as I then said, "Here you go. I believe this belongs to you." Much to my shock, disbelief, and amazement, she then actually apologized. Message conveyed.

On another crowded beach day, several teenage boys with rather obvious deficiencies in eye-hand coordination, depth perception, peripheral vision, overall athletic ability, common sense, and common courtesy were throwing around a tennis ball. One would be hard-pressed to walk any reasonable distance without stepping on a body or a blanket, yet these clueless knuckleheads began an Olympic competition of throwing a round a tennis ball in a widespread and encompassing area, as if all the rest of us were either somehow invisible or unworthy of notice or concern. The first time the ball hit me, the kid apologized and I simply threw it back to him, politely pointing out that the beach was fairly crowded (as if he couldn't notice) and I asked him to please exercise a little more caution. The second time the ball hit me, my tone was slight terser. I repeated my previous statement, and warned that on a third occasion, the ball would become mine. Sure enough, the third time the ball hit me, without saying a word or missing a beat, I simply opened my cooler and threw it in. Knucklehead came over, now calling me "Sir," and pleaded with me to give him his ball back. I refused, reminding him of my previous warning, and of the three unnecessary times I was struck by the ball, and added that it behooved him to expeditiously get away from me. A couple hours later, as my wife and I were leaving, the lad approached me again, still pleading his case for the return of his confiscated tennis ball. Having made my point (and still being a firm believer in 4th Amendment property rights), I finally gave him his (now very wet and cold) ball back. Once again, message conveyed. Maybe Hillary was right after all. Given the apathy, naiveté, moral relativism and ineptitude of many modern parents, maybe a few more of us should pitch in once in a while to fill in the gaps for the benefit of their obviously and otherwise neglected and undisciplined offspring. When these darling little cherubs and misguided pinnacles of excessively built-up self-esteem and mutated by-products of liberal, public school political correctness and the daffy parents who zealously support it dare cross the line and brazenly encroach upon my rights, hey, my pleasure.

My wife grew up on a dairy farm in very rural northwest Massachusetts. I grew up by and lived near the shore, and both of us love the beach, especially my wife, who saw little of it growing up as an inland kid. Besides my close proximity and our shared love of the shore, my wife later regaled me that she was attracted to me because of my sense of humor and my Monte Carlo. (Looking back, I have far less happy memories of that damned lemon of a Monte Carlo than she does.) We recently discussed our observations and the phenomenon that back when we were dating, and more so in my even younger days before I met her, the beach was compact chaos on the weekends and moderately full on weekdays. Even a Wednesday afternoon on a nice summer day could prove to be a daunting challenge to find an available spot of sand on which to park, with reasonable elbow room, unencumbered by rolling tumbleweed-like snot-rags from poorly bred, ill-mannered bikini-clad bimbos, and flying, misguided tennis balls from uncoordinated, still developing, adolescent nerds, desperately trying to butch up with feigned athletic prowess. Now, the beach has a modicum of visitors on weekends and is nearly desolate during the week. Why? My wife suggested, and correctly, I believe, that more people now have swimming pools in their backyards, even in shoreline communities. At one time, not all that long ago, dominating and noisy boom boxes were a common disturbance on the beach for those of us preferring a more quite setting of tranquil reading and occasional, but discreetly and tactfully done bikini-viewing. (Yet another reason why very dark sunglasses are absolutely necessary beachwear!) Now, most of the few remaining diehards on the beach are wearing I-Pods, practically considered as crucial in modern public travel anywhere as the ever-present and equally trendy bottle of water in hand.

The movie theatres are closing, and following the path of the dinosaurs. Beaches are now as vacant on summer weekends as churches are on Super Bowl Sunday. Our public officials strive to find funding for some semblance of mass public transportation, or at least resources for car-pooling to address the ever-growing and seemingly insurmountable traffic congestion crisis, yet despite the longer daily commutes, endless traffic congestion and precious leisure time, now stolen from ourselves and our loved ones in the fleeting and all-too brief evenings, more Americans still prefer to tolerate all the gross inconvenience and solo it back and forth from work every day. Why?

Even our kids are subject to this mindset now. Emails and text messaging have mostly replaced phone calls. Computers and video games endlessly entertain our youth, even on the brightest and warmest of precious spring and summer days. Doctors now tell us that they are seeing the effects on the new "indoor trend" with higher rates of obesity, allergies and respiratory ailments among our now sedentary children, who now need their parents to formally organize "play dates" for them, as opposed to kids walking up the street and getting into a very unorganized basketball, street hockey or sandlot baseball ball or football game as some of us from older generations were more accustomed to doing in our youth. ("Soccer?" What's that?) Many of our kids, also as a result of this new self-isolationism, and besides the current permissive style of parenting where it even exists at all, have about as many social skills today as a dingo, captured from the wild and later let loose into a suburban shopping mall on a Saturday afternoon during the week before Christmas.

I believe there is cohesion to all these examples of societal change because of two elements: 1.) Chosen self-isolation, and 2.) Generally obnoxious public behavior. The only remaining question seems to ask: Which came first; the chicken or the egg?

I'm no sociologist (unless you count a couple 100 level college courses), nor have I ever even played one on TV. I'm just an opinionated, garden-variety schmuck who notices things and asks questions. In an era in which our morals, former mores and taboos, traditions and overall sense and respect for personal accountability is rapidly eroding, and self gratification is not only now the norm, but the ultimate goal, I have little doubt as to the answer to the chicken/egg conundrum that I proposed. In fact, it's really not a conundrum at all as I see it. I'm no physicist either, but the only thing I do remember from Physics is that every action causes a reaction.

I suppose that the same Physics theory is equally applicable to Sociology as well. As a people, some of us have become far too obnoxious. And the rest of us are tired of having to put up with that incessant annoyance, and are thus retreating to the perceived solace within.

Robert Frost once told us, "Good fences make good neighbors."

Sadly now, so do closed doors.

Doug Wrenn